1969 and after
by The Lady Nightingale
Summary: A few thoughts on what happened to Jenny and Michael after SG1 headed back to the future in '1969'. Maybe very slight spoilers for '1969' and 'Message in a Bottle'.


_I was re-watching Season Two, and this popped into my head. I'm Aussie, not an American, so forgive any cultural errors. I take responsibility for all the other errors, I don't do betas._

_Disclaimer: Alas, I own nothing - just playing in the gate-room. Even the plot is a collaboration with my better half._

**1969**

Jenny tried to smile. "You look funny with no hair." Michael rubbed his hand over his newly-shaved head. "I feel funny."

"You going to be OK?" The airport was full of men in green, saying goodbye. Most of them were draftees, Jenny imagined, and there were some fairly tearful farewells going on. "I still don't want to kill anyone, but our friends out there.." he waved vaguely at the sky, ".. said a few things on the road, about freedom and peace and sacrifice. I think I will be… You?"  
"I'll be here when you get back. Write lots, OK?"  
"Jenny, I know it's a silly time to ask, but I never really realised before… I love you. I don't want to be without you. Will you marry me?" She stood on tiptoes to kiss him.  
"As soon as you get back."

He had disappeared into the plane, headed for Vietnam. Jenny willed him to stay alive. She couldn't imagine being without him.

**1970**

The mailman shook his head at her when he saw her watching him through the window of her parent's house. "Sorry." he mouthed. Nothing for her. Again. Michael had always written regularly – every week, like clockwork. Now his letter was four days late. She desperately tried to think up reasons for it that didn't involve the unthinkable. Four days ago she was only willing to think of him being drunk on a three day pass, postal interruptions, lost letters; now she was prepared for him to be injured in hospital, unconscious, whatever. As long as he wasn't dead. "Please, God," she whispered, "Anything but dead."

**1975**

When Saigon fell and the troops came home, Jenny finally allowed herself to cry. She hadn't cried when she found out, though she knew her mother had expected her to, had wanted her to – to cry and then get over the hippy boy mother had never approved of, marry the QB childhood sweetheart, have a couple of kids and get her all-American dream life back on track. Jenny refused to be some kind of Barbie doll. She loved Michael. And she'd keep waiting until he came home.

She did go to the parade, though. One of the few who went out of respect.

**1978**

"Breathe – come on, breathe. Get ready to push."  
'What kind of a stupid instruction is 'breathe'? How does that help? What am I going to do, stop?' Thought Jenny, as the pain came again. "I want… I want Michael."

They'd stayed home for as long as possible, even against the advice of the doctor. Michael wasn't sure it was the right thing, either, but Jenny knew they'd just send him away if they were in the hospital and she didn't want him to be on his own. She didn't want to be without him, either.  
"The baby's nearly here, then we'll get you cleaned up and your husband can come visit."  
"You aren't listening: I want him NOW."  
"The baby's crowning. You're nearly there, come on." Jenny decided 'nearly there' was another of those stupid things people say to women in labour. It seemed to hours and hours since the midwives had started saying 'nearly there'. Jenny pushed till she felt she was going to explode, then suddenly it was over. "It's a boy, Mrs. Simmons."

They wrapped him up, and gave him to her, and nothing else mattered anymore. When Michael came in, he smiled fondly at them. She hadn't seen him look like that since she'd waved him off at the airport all those years ago. Even at their wedding, shortly after he'd been released and made it home, he'd clearly wanted to be there, but there were other things on his mind.

Michael never said anything much; about his capture and imprisonment. One night when she'd woken him from a nightmare, he'd said it was the thought of her and something 'their friends from out there' had said that got him through. She'd never asked what. Jenny was just glad they'd stopped on their way to that concert in New York.

"So what should we call him?  
"Graham."  
"How come 'Graham'?" Michael's face clouded slightly.  
"He didn't make it."

**1998**

"Is there anything else you need, honey? Are you warm enough?" The porch was sunny, but she'd been told he was still quite weak. "Mum, I'm fine – you don't need to treat me like a little kid."  
"You're sick, it's what mothers do." Jenny adjusted the tray-table so the lemonade and sandwiches were within easier reach.  
"I'm not sick. I'm recovering. Doc Fraiser said I just needed to rest up for a few days, that's all. I'd be fine if I wasn't allergic to half the antibiotics under the sun."  
"Well, I'm glad she sent you home instead of to some Air Force hospital – I hardly ever see you since you made lieutenant, and with your Dad gone..."  
"Yeah, I know, but you know how it is."  
"You never talk about what you do…" Graham went to interrupt her. "No, no, I know you can't," she waved away his protest and continued, "but could you at least answer one question? When you analyse your deep space radar te-tel-"  
"Telemetry."  
"Telemetry. Does it tell you about far-away galaxies?"  
"Yeah, pretty far. Why?"  
"Is there anyone out there?" Lieutenant Simmons nearly choked on his lemonade.  
"Mum, seriously, I knew you were a hippy but a conspiracy theorist? Everyone knows there's no such thing as aliens! What made you think …?"  
"Everyone hasn't seen what I've seen. You see, in 1969 your father and I picked up four of 'em hitch-hiking on route 66. I've always wondered if Jack, Sam, Daniel and Teal'C made it home OK…"


End file.
